


And By The Light Of The Moon

by Memories_of_the_Shadows



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Canon Bisexual Character, Complete, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, F/F, Pining, Religious Discussion, Sailing, Two of them, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24862690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memories_of_the_Shadows/pseuds/Memories_of_the_Shadows
Summary: Isabela never manages to learn her lesson on falling in love, but this time it might not break her heart.  And it's all because of the person.
Relationships: Isabela/Merrill (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 16





	And By The Light Of The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” by Iron Maiden, which is inspired by the epic poem of the same name by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
> 
> I do not consent to my work being hosted on any unofficial apps, especially any with ad revenue and subscription services, or any website other than ao3 unless I personally cross-posted a work.

“You’re right, Isabela, it _is_ different above deck,” Merrill says from her perch at the stern of the ship, staring out over the endless ocean. It’s night, and the moon is halfway gone, so Isabela can barely see Merrill but the ocean sparkles with starlight and if she never stole another jewel in her life Isabela would be content so long as she could be surrounded by this sight.

“I told you, Kitten,” Isabela says, feeling soft and fond and she would feel vulnerable too but the night is dark and the ocean is close and Kirkwall is far, far away.

“You always know what you’re talking about, Isabela, I should have listened to you better.” The waves lap against her ship, the wood of it creaks, and the sails snap and curl in the wind. It all sounds so much like home, and it scares her how well Merrill’s voice fits into that.

“I take it you might be staying on a bit longer then?” Isabela absolutely _doesn’t_ feel a curl of dread and anticipation spin together in her gut. Merrill’s shadowy form shifts like she’s trying to catch a star.

“Ir’ghilas u’vunen la manaan shiralan,” Merrill says, something like her hand blocking out a bright star for a moment before she pulls it away. Isabela has no idea what it means--doesn’t know any Elvish, really, and can only repeat some words and phrases because she’s heard them from Merrill so often--but it sounds like a prayer. “Wouldn’t it be exciting,” she says, and it sounds wistful.

And Isabela has never--well, not since long before she was sold into marriage by her bitch of mother--had a _comfortable_ relationship with religion and Kirkwall has not helped anything. All the trappings of faith and none of the feeling just reminds her of her mother, the old bag, she hopes she’s rotting in a charlatan’s grave, but Merrill has never made Isabela feel like that.

Even when Merrill is doing something that seems to _Isabela_ to be unnecessarily performative, it’s still clear that Merrill _believes_ and that makes her insides twist with something Isabela won’t, _can’t_ , acknowledge.

Still, Merrill’s huddled silhouette seems wrong and strange so far away and Isabela aches to pull her close, into a hug or something more, letting the physical comfort outweigh the hurts of the soul. But Merrill has never once looked at Isabela like that, and touching her when she’s curled into a ball like this is always hit or miss. Isabela will keep her hands to herself, but she still calls out, “Kitten? Are you feeling okay?”

“Oh, yes, thank you Isabela. I was just thinking how far away the trees are. I’ve never seen anything so flat. There’s no mountains or buildings or _trees_. It all feels very… exposed.”

“Ah, but Kitten, there are mountains _under_ the ocean,” Isabela says, almost wishing for a light. She can practically imagine the look on Merrill’s face, the way those pretty, green eyes will go wide and her pretty, pink lips will fall into an ‘o’. But imagination isn’t as good as reality and so she wishes, just for a moment, for a light.

Merrill’s gasp of excitement and awe is almost as good. “Oh! Mountains for the fish! I see.” Her laugh at learning this new fact is delighted. “Are there trees, too?”

“Not trees, no, but there _are_ forests.” Isabela remembers diving in one, a long time ago, back when she stayed closer to Par Vollan and the warmer waters there. She’d been hoping for a couple of urchins or lobster to be in reach, but instead she had had to surface empty-handed because she could not hold her breath any longer, she had spent it circling the leafy vines stretching up from the bottom, as tall as trees but as bendable as any elfroot. It had felt like _flying_ , like what birds must feel like in the forest, and Isabela has gone to bed hungry that night but with dreams of light filtering into green and the waves of thick, canvas-like leaves moving as one. “The Ferelden fishermen I’ve talked to call it kelp, and they say it doesn’t have roots, it just holds onto the rocks at the bottom. I’ve only ever seen the forest in person near Par Vollan though, and I don’t know what the Qunari would call it.”

“It must be _beautiful_ ,” Merrill says, and Isabela can tell she’s thinking of real trees underwater, despite what Isabela just said, just from the slightly confused tilt to her head, wreathed as she is in the dim moonlight. Not that Isabela can blame her, that’s what _she_ would have thought of if she had been told before seeing it. Merrill is uncurled, though, and that’s all Isabela can ask for.

“One of the most beautiful things in the world,” Isabela agrees, climbing up on the railing to sit close but not touching.

“I wonder… people call our aravels ‘landships’, can you sail through kelp forests, or do the branches get stuck?” Merrill hums in the back of her throat, and, this close, Isabela can see her tap her lips.

“It’s not that kind of forest, Kitten.” Isabel wants to laugh, but not at Merrill, just at the image of her ship grandly trailing across the tops of trees, occasionally piercing an unwary cloud. “Kelp is more like really tall elfroot and it moves with the waves. People sail through it all the time. You might have sailed through it on your way to Kirkwall.”

Merrill looks over at Isabela and her pretty eyes are narrow and her flat nose is scrunched up. “Is this like that time you told Aveline those little rocks on ships are alive to have her on? It’s not very nice to lie, Isabela.”

“They _are_ alive, Kitten, Maker’s balls we need to teach you how to swim so you can see for yourself.” Although, it had been pretty funny to have the big girl get so worked up.

“I know how to swim, I’ve just never done it in the ocean before. It is much deeper than a lake or a stream.” Merrill turns away, back to the glittering ocean, and Isabela wishes she was just a bit braver. “I never realized how much like riding in an aravel sailing is. It’s less bumpy though. And it doesn’t smell like halla.”

This time, Isabela really does laugh. “No, just like fish and the ocean. Is that bad?”

“No, I like it more than I thought I would. It feels like a piece of home I didn’t think I would have again. I liked Kirkwall but everyday it was the same place and nothing grew except in gardens I wasn’t supposed to go into.” Merrill kicks her feet a bit, holding onto the railing tightly until it creaks. “I thought this might be the same, but I just can’t see the growing bits. It’s like being a bird in the sky.”

“Very like,” Isabela says, and she can’t ask Merrill to stay, to be more than Merrill wants to be, but she can wish and break her own dumb heart in the process. And here Isabela was so _sure_ that it had learned its lesson.

“Ah, there’s this thing I’ve been trying to work out, it’s a speciality of clan Sabrae but Keeper Marethari thought I was too scatterbrained to learn it….” Merrill kicks her feet again.

The more Isabela hears Merrill talk about Marethari, the more she is reminded of her own mother. It’s not a good thing.

Merrill kicks one last time, then throws herself off the railing, falling towards the dark water below. Isabela shoots up, eyes wide, ready to go after her, and instead of Merrill as an elf hitting the water with a splash, Merrill as an albatross skims it with her long wing and rounds closer to the ship when she has enough height.

Isabela is breathless with wonder, and she watches Merrill swing through the sky knowing that if she believes in anything--if anything believes in _her_ \--that this is a _sign_. She’ll have to gather her courage, and just remember what kind of person Merrill is should it falter.

If there’s anyone Isabela can trust with her heart, it has to be sweet, curious, _empathetic_ Merrill.

**Author's Note:**

> The random, terrible elvish means "I am guided by the stars and ocean on this journey", and took me literal hours to come up with, complete with scrolling through way too much of [fenxshiral's](https://fenxshiral.tumblr.com/) tumblr and the elven language dragon age wikia page.
> 
> I love MerriBela, it's such a cute ship, and I just really wanted to write some femmeslash for Dragon Age since most of the time I'm focused on my favorite character. Also, I couldn't stop thinking about aravels.
> 
> If you'd like, come visit me on [tumblr](https://sachinighte.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
